


you can count on me

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Deputy Derek, Deputy Derek Hale, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Derek steps into the house and sighs deeply, all of the stress he's accumulated over the last 24 hours dissipating as he focuses on the familiar heartbeat. It's slow and steady, like Stiles is sleeping peacefully. But it isn't coming from their bedroom.





	you can count on me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12 Days of Sterek on [tumblr.](http://12daysofsterek.tumblr.com/) A huge thank you to [@literaryoblivion](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com/) for running this event :D

Derek steps into the house and sighs deeply, all of the stress he's accumulated over the last 24 hours dissipating as he focuses on the familiar heartbeat. It's slow and steady, like Stiles is sleeping peacefully. But it isn't coming from their bedroom.

Curious, Derek slips out of his snow-damp jacket and lets his boots drop to the floor with a heavy thump. He is beyond late, kept at work by a string of robberies that had him and Erica one step behind the bad guys for the majority of Christmas Eve. In the end, they'd caught and booked the robbers, but that led to more paperwork and another debrief. Instead of being home in time for dinner, it was approaching two in the morning.

The kitchen smells like baked goods and faintly like Scott and Kira. Derek hangs his over shirt on the back of a chair and drops his gun belt onto the kitchen table. At least Stiles didn't spend the day completely alone.

A faint noise from the living room pulls him out of his head. Derek strips out of his trousers and follows the sound of Stiles’ quiet breathing.

What he finds makes his heart skip a beat.

Stiles is sprawled out on the floor, like he'd been watching the lights on their Christmas tree before falling asleep. His skin is stained in the bright colors of the lights, reds and blues and greens playing out across his face.

Derek just stares for a moment, soaking in the sight and scent of him. He should probably wake Stiles up. Sleeping on the floor can't be good for his human body.

Instead, he stays for a while longer. Watching Stiles sleep is one of his favorite things. Stiles makes endless fun of him, calling him a ‘creeper wolf.’ It's a name he’s okay with, as long as it gets Stiles to laugh and card his fingers through Derek’s hair.

Almost as if he's aware of his audience, Stiles’ heart speeds up and his eyelids flutter. His gaze lands on Derek, still standing across the room, and his mouth curls into a sleepy smile.

Like a needle drawn to a magnet, Derek finds himself pulled in by Stiles’ eyes. He goes willingly, dropping to his knees beside the Christmas tree. Stiles reaches for him, smelling warm and content.

“Kiss please.”

Derek huffs a laugh at the demand disguised as a question. But he can't resist Stiles when he's bleary eyed and sleep drunk. Or any other time, really. So he eases himself over his husband, capturing his lips as he twines their limbs together.

Stiles presses up into the kiss, moaning as Derek breaks away and trails gentle bites over the hinge of his jaw and down his neck. But he falls to the side when Stiles hitches his hips, seeking friction.

The whine Stiles lets out almost makes him feel guilty, but Derek knows better.

“Remember the rug burn?” he asks, voice teasing.

Stiles winces. “Unfortunately.”

He'd complained for _weeks_ about the raw patches on his ass and lower back. So Derek made a rule. No sex on the floor. But tempting him was Stiles’ greatest super power.

And based off of the pout and soft eyes Stiles was giving him, he knew it. Derek sighs.

“Couch or bed?”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “Bed.”

Derek rolls to a crouch, then stands. He yanks his undershirt over his head and lets it drop to Stiles’ chest. Now he's down to boxers and wool socks. Stiles is still clad in his flannel pants and one of Derek’s henleys.

Several moments of intense eye contact pass, then Stiles is yawning so wide his jaw cracks. Derek laughs.

“Let's get you to bed.”

He helps Stiles to his feet, unsurprised when Stiles goes boneless in his arms.

“Carry me.” Stiles sounds petulant, so Derek scoops him up in a fireman’s carry. He can feel Stiles’ indignant grunt vibrate through his chest.

By the time they make it up the stairs, Stiles is loose and relaxed. Derek tumbles him down onto the mattress with careful hands, breath catching when he sees the look on Stiles’ face. There is nothing but love there and it still makes Derek feel split open and raw sometimes.

Stiles tugs him down before he can get overwhelmed by the fact that they're _here_ and they made it. Sometimes he has to stare at his hands, running disbelieving fingers over the shiny band that ties him to Stiles. He never thought he'd have this much happiness.

“Hey.” Stiles traces over his nose, beneath his eyes, sliding his hands into Derek's hair. “I can feel you thinking.”

Derek nuzzles at Stiles wrist, smiling into his skin when Stiles hisses at the scrape of stubble. “Thinking about you.”

The flip-flop that Stiles’ heart makes has Derek leaning up for another kiss. Stiles responds with a hunger and passion that Derek will never be immune to. His palms paint fiery trails down Derek's chest and he can feel Stiles smile against his lips when he arches beneath the touch.

Then Stiles is pulling away, large hands reaching up to cup Derek's face. “As much as I'd like to continue with this, I'm exhausted and you've been awake for almost two days.”

Derek tucks his face into the hollow of Stiles’ throat, breathing in the comforting scent of home and pack. He presses another kiss against the underside of Stiles’ jaw, then goes pliant as Stiles manhandles him into the curve of his body.

“Merry Christmas,” Derek whispers into the dark.

Stiles hums against the nape of his neck, fingers seeking out Derek's hand and lacing them together over his stomach. Their wedding rings catch against each other, another point of contact linking Stiles to Derek.

“Happy birthday. Love you.”

Derek smiles, settling back into Stiles’ warmth. “Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com)


End file.
